


The Christmas Party

by maktub



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:30:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maktub/pseuds/maktub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lot can happen in a year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Party

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the 2014 round of 'Holidays in Panem'.

**1.**

 

I swirl a finger around the rim of my glass, staring out at the mass of drunken co-workers, all currently in the process of making gigantic fools of themselves. 

 

A giggle sounds beside me - Madge Undersee stumbling over too-high heels - and I raise a (for once, forcibly, painfully) groomed eyebrow at my friend.

 

“Have you seen Peeta any - _hiccup_ \- where?” The blonde falls into another fit of giggles, wrapping an arm around my waist and tucking her head into the crook of my neck. She’s always been taller than me and in those ankle-breakers I can’t see how this position is possibly comfortable, but she tugs me closer and I decide that it doesn’t really matter. 

 

Knowing she can’t see me, I let my eyes roll.  

 

_Peeta Mellark._

 

Madge has had a crush on him since he arrived at the office and I’ll never understand the attraction. I mean physically… Fine. I’m not blind. But there’s something about the fact that I’ve never seen him do anything but smile, or joke with friends, or get along with even the grumpiest of the office’s cleaners. There’s something suspicious about someone who’s just so... _nice._

 

He could probably charm the panties off Haymitch Abernathy. 

 

Madge slumps further against me, sipping on some pink concoction through a straw. I can’t help but think of that movie with Ryan Gosling and wish more than anything I could be at home, lazing on my couch, enjoying his chiselled abs, rather than be at Heavensbee & Coin’s annual company Christmas party. 

 

_The Party of the Year!_

 

I feel rather than hear her deep sigh, “He said that he’d see me at the Christmas party. But I think he was just being polite.”

 

Not knowing quite how to respond, I lift an arm and pat the delicate lace covering her shoulder. She leans back to give me a wry smile that says something like ‘thanks for trying’, but as she does – _speak of the devil…_ – Peeta appears, like some kind of sober mirage in the desert of inebriation.

 

It’s a struggle to maintain a face that is moderately welcoming, and I only manage it because of the way Madge brightens entirely.

 

Peeta smiles at her, all straight white teeth and lips stretched wide across pale skin, for a moment I’m glad Madge still has her arm around me because I wouldn’t be surprised if she went a little weak in the knees.

 

But then he turns to me and the grin falls right down into the kind of perfunctory smile he shares with every other human on the planet. It still manages to be more pleasant than anything I could muster. Though I still have to remind myself that I hate him, and I’ve made it obvious, and there’s no reason why Peeta Mellark would want to share one of those disarming smiles with me.

 

Madge, usually so perceptive, seems oblivious in her drunken state and raises a pale hand to Peeta’s forearm, squeezing slightly before saying, a little breathlessly, “Almost thought I wouldn’t see you tonight.”

 

He lets out a chuckle, a warm rumble that I can see has Madge’s cheeks filling with heat. I find myself turning away, as though I’m an intruder on an intimate moment even though he was the one that walked up to us. 

 

Instead of standing around watching this prelude to lovefest, I decide the best option is to excuse myself. Madge has been raving for weeks about how much she likes this guy and the last thing I need right now is being the awkward third wheel. 

 

So I go to tug Madge’s arm from around my waist, hoping that she’s so caught up in Peeta Mellark that she won’t even notice I’m gone. But the sharp sting of five perfectly manicured fingernails digging into my side halts further progress.

 

I turn to her with a glare and she releases me with a raise of an eyebrow that I know means _“Stay or there will be consequences.”_

 

So much for an easy getaway.

 

Peeta watches the interaction with a smirk tugging at his lips and I hate that this plan was ruined. Now I not only have to spend more time in his presence but he knows that I’m desperate not to be here.

 

He lifts a beer bottle to his lips and catches my eyes as he takes a long pull. I narrow my gaze, hoping that for once he’ll act like all my other co-workers and get scared off, but he merely winks at me.

 

“So, Katniss,” he drawls, clearly amused at my discomfort, “How’d you get the pleasure of being friends with the lovely Madge?”

 

I have to give him credit for being able to both piss me off and flirt with Madge all in the same sentence. Her giggle sounds again and I send Peeta a pointed look that he shrugs off with a smile.

 

“We met in school.”

 

I purse my lips and Madge prods my side.

 

“Actually,” she says, sounding some fraction of her sober self, “We only sat together at lunch because we had no one else to sit with.”

 

She laughs as though this doesn’t make us sound like complete losers, “We didn’t talk to each other for almost a year – Katniss here has always been a bit of a quiet one,” she leans forward to catch my eye, “Hm?”

 

I cross my arms and look away. Like Madge was Little Miss Chatterbox.

 

Peeta does that chuckle again and I decide to add it to the list of things that I hate about him.

 

I can’t really pinpoint where it all started (sort of a lie, but it’s hard to admit to yourself that you don’t like someone because they gave you their sandwich when you forgot yours) but hating him has felt like second nature since he arrived. And the worst part is that he’s never anything but kind. It feels like a game. How mean can I be before he finally snaps?

 

It’s not like he takes it standing down, if anything – as evidenced by this conversation – he seems to enjoy how much I hate him.

 

Masochistic freak.

 

“So I hear you’re changing departments?” Madge questions with a tilt of her head and a saccharine smile – a look perfected through years of sitting through polite dinner conversations with her father’s political work mates.

 

I look back at Peeta to find his gaze already on me.

 

“Yeah,” he says, blue eyes moving back to Madge, with a smile that almost looks nervous.

 

“I’m actually moving into Katniss’ department.”

 

I feel my stomach drop: _please no, not him._

 

His eyes flicker to mine for a beat and if I hadn’t been concentrating I mightn’t have noticed the brief downturn of his lips at my expression.

 

But in the same moment he’s a mask of cool composure and I know that I imagined it.

 

“Yeah,” he continues in response to Madge’s shocked expression, “I was talking to Heavensbee the other day and he thought it would be best, said there was a bit of a lack of um, artistic talent over that way.”

 

He lifts a hand to tug at the blond waves falling across his forehead, shooting me a sheepish smile. I narrow my eyes at him even though it’s likely true.

 

“Well,” I say with a clipped tone, reaching out a hand, “It’s been a pleasure, Mellark, I guess I’ll see you on Monday.”

 

A large, strong hand grips mine and I hate the way his eyes crinkle in amusement.

 

So much for a Happy New Year.

 

 

 

**2.**

 

“Have you seen Mellark?” I ask as Madge and I head to the bar for a drink.

 

She gives me a sharp look and I merely shrug. Ever since last year’s Christmas party, when Peeta politely but firmly declined Madge’s offer to take him home, she’s been a little less keen on spending time with him. 

 

I remember spending the rest of the party playing ‘Guess Who’s Fucking Tonight?’ with Haymitch in some corner of the room and number one on my list had been Peeta and Madge. So when she’d returned a few hours later a little teary and a lot gloomy, Haymitch had chuckled as he made me down the rest of my drink before I could take the blonde home for ice cream and chick flicks. 

 

 _“Boys suck! I’m never going to bother again - he was into me? Wasn’t he into me? Katniss?”_  
  
I hadn’t thought my night could get worse. 

 

So Monday at the office had been kind of awkward.

 

But then I see that annoying blond mop is winding it’s way through the drunken crowd towards us. He lifts a hand to wave but he seems a bit distracted by the Christmassy tones of Mariah Carey. 

 

I look down at my ever sensible shoes to hide the way my lips quirk up at his silliness. 

 

It turns out Peeta Mellark loves Christmas. Our department has been filled with Christmas carols since the moment the calendar clocked over to December (and not a moment sooner, thank fucking Christ.) He even strung up a little cardboard Christmas tree and decorated it with little hanging pictures of everyone in the department. 

 

He also dedicates this enthusiasm to Easter (we all got hand decorated Easter eggs), April Fool’s Day (I’m _still_ getting the glitter out of my clothes), 4th of July (I was surprised when he _didn’t_ cover my computer in an American flag), Halloween (I think I spent a week recovering from the fake mummy he’d placed in the filing cabinet), Thanksgiving (okay, he makes the best pumpkin pie I’ve ever eaten). And those are just the public holidays I can remember. 

 

I most definitely hated all of it. But I guess I’ve also never had a more enjoyable year at work. So maybe working with him wasn’t quite as awful as I’d first imagined it would be. 

 

He sidles up to us, singing out of tune – _“I don’t want a lot for Christmas… there is just one thing I need!”_

 

I try to shove him away but he just laughs and throws an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side.

 

“I thought you weren’t coming, Everdeen.”

 

“I wasn’t,” I mumble, glancing across at the secret smirk Madge shoots my way. I had been very happily lounging around my apartment in pyjamas when she showed up with a dress and a bottle of wine and a mission she refused to fail.

 

From the corner of my eye I see Peeta wink at Madge, “Thanks for the help with that one.”

 

Of course. I duck out from under his arm and shoot the pair of them a glare.

 

“Since when did you two become buddies?”

 

Peeta raises an eyebrow at me and I realise how jealous I sound.

 

“I’m just not sure if I like how easy it is for you to gang up on me. Madge has a key to my house and you have a key to my desk. This could all go sour very quickly.”

 

He just smiles and shrugs, “Got to have some advantage over you Everdeen.”

 

Whatever. I turn back to the bar, seeing the line’s gone down.

 

The barman’s back is turned but the slope of the shoulders, the straight dark hair, it all seems oddly familiar.

 

“Gale?” 

 

The figure turns, confusion crinkling his brows, before he sees me and I’m being pulled over the bar into a tight hug.

 

“Catnip!” 

 

I can feel the wet bar soaking my (thankfully) black dress and try to push away before I wind up needing to spend the next hour under the hand dryer in the ladies’ bathroom. 

 

The laughter bubbles out of me regardless. I haven’t seen Gale in years, not since I’d managed to get out of District Twelve to study and he’d been sent off to the mines. We’d been good friends in high school, even though he was a few years older than me. 

 

In another life I’d have probably wound up married to him, three babies by the age of twenty-five. But I’d managed to escape that life. And it seems Gale did too. 

 

“Since when did you get a job in the Capitol?” 

 

Our state was a small one - thirteen districts (though the last was a little too odd to be included most of the time) and the Capital city, imaginatively titled ‘Capitol’. Most of the people from home ended up staying there their whole lives, after my sister died I’d decided _I’d_ rather die then end up like the majority of my graduating class and applied for every scholarship in existence. 

 

Saying goodbye to Gale had been the hardest part of that. 

 

So it’s kind of surreal seeing him right now.

 

He does that dumb lip twitch of his that supposedly counts as a smile, “Managed to get a job a few years ago with some catering company. Figured anything was better than a job in the mines. I’ll have enough saved soon to open a bar of my own.” 

 

I find myself tugging Gale over the bar this time to give him a hug of my own. Honestly I couldn’t be happier to know my old high school best friend is here in the city with me. 

 

It’s then that I hear a cough behind me and I remember Peeta and Madge and our goal of getting some drinks. I release Gale with a little laugh and turn to the others with a contrite smile. 

 

Peeta has a funny expression on his face that I can’t quite read and Madge is looking back and forth between Gale and I. 

 

Madge! 

 

“Oh Gale, you remember Madge from school right?”  


 

I see him look over at her and a flare of that old Seam anger appears on his face before he reaches up to smooth back his hair. Then the expression is gone. It’s weird to see him actually extend a hand to a Merchant girl, rather than all the hate and anger I was so used to when we knew each other all those years ago. 

 

“Of course, who could forget the Mayor’s daughter?” He says it with only a hint of that sardonic smile and I think I actually see Madge blush. 

 

I throw a glance at Peeta and see his lips settled in a tight line. He looks over at me from their exchange and I can’t help but wonder if he’s jealous of Gale flirting a little with Madge. The thought twists my gut uncomfortably and I don’t really get why so I just shove it away. Grabbing his shoulder I turn him back to Gale and introduce them. 

 

As much as I’d love to spend a few hours catching up with my old friend, now isn’t really the time or place, so instead we exchange numbers and agree to go out for lunch sometime before Christmas. 

 

We head back into the crowd, G&Ts in hand, looking for an elusive table we might actually be able to sit at. 

 

Peeta sticks close behind me as we wind our way through conversations and awkward dance moves. I can feel the steady heat he seems to constantly emanate on my back, his fingertips lightly brushing my wrist to ensure he doesn’t get lost. Something about the feeling has my skin tingling. 

 

He leans down, lips brushing my ear and points toward a free table in the distance. 

 

“Was that your ex?” He says into the shell of my ear, tone light. 

 

Looking over my shoulder I catch his eyes, expression curious but the smile is a polite one, not something I’ve received from him for a while. I frown but just shake my head ‘no’. 

 

We make it to the table just before another group and I breathe a sigh of relief. Madge collapses into one of the chairs, still determined on wearing heels far too high to stand on for hours on edge. She takes off her shoes and starts rubbing the soles of her feet, a distant look on her face. 

 

I sit beside Peeta and sip on my cocktail, watching him watch her. 

 

He turns to me after a moment, “Was he her ex?” 

 

The question is asked quietly, so as not disturb Madge from her thoughts. 

 

I shake my head again, brows creasing, “He was a friend of mine, a few years older, but we grew up in the same area.” 

 

“Oh,” is all he says. 

 

“What does it matter? It’s not like you want to date her.”  But the end of that sounds much more like a question than I want it to. 

 

He looks over at me, a smirk tugging at his lips, and I’m currently about a thousand per cent confused. 

 

“You’re right,” he says, blue eyes - so bright against his pale skin - looking into mine, “I don’t.” 

 

I don’t really know how to respond. So I look over at Madge, “How're you going over there?”   
  
She looks up at me startled, completely unaware that we’d been sitting here talking about her. 

 

“I’m fine,” she says, voice a little wobbly. What is going on with the world right now? 

 

“Um,” she twists her lips, arms folding across her chest, “When do you think you and Gale’ll catch up?”

 

I shrug because honestly I don’t know. 

 

“Oh, kay.” 

 

She bites her lip and looks over at Peeta who raises an eyebrow at her, “Do you want to grab us some more drinks, Madge?” He asks with a lilt of amusement to his voice. I look at our nearly full glasses of G&T and frown - about to voice how unnecessary more drinks are right now - but Peeta reaches a hand to my knee and squeezes, shutting me up just as Madge almost jumps out of her seat in agreement. 

 

“Yep, I’m thirsty, I’ll get us all some water, be back back - um,” but she doesn’t finish, just hurries off into the crowd without a backwards glance. 

 

Peeta turns to me and, seeing the confusion that must be written all over my face, bursts into laughter. His shoulders shake with the effort, face turns bright red, tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. 

 

I’ve never felt so embarrassed in my life and I have no idea what even just happened. 

 

So I do the first thing I can think of which is apparently to shove Peeta out of his chair. 

 

He falls to the ground with a thump, his laughter ceasing as he looks up at me with wide eyes, cheeks still flushed. I feel like a five year old who’s just about to be berated by their mother for knocking over sand castles in the sand pit. A sane part of me is trying to say that it’s just shock in his eyes but the rest of me is sure that it’s hatred. 

 

He’s finally snapped. 

 

He doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore. 

 

This whole year I kept him at arm’s length even if I could admit to myself that I actually enjoyed his company and now I’ve gone and ruined it. 

 

I stand, Peeta’s eyes still on me, and run off. I couldn’t be more thankful for flat shoes as I wind my way through the crowd of Santa’s hats and tinsel towards the coat check. 

 

I should never have come to this stupid party. 

 

I should never have let Peeta think we could be friends. 

 

I should never have let myself believe I could deserve a friend like Peeta. 

 

“Katniss,” I hear his voice over the music and push harder through the crowd, people stumbling out of my way, “Katniss, wait!” 

 

I make it through the doors into the foyer when a strong hand grips my shoulder and spins me round. I’m face to face with Peeta’s chest, heaving with the exertion of chasing after me. 

 

His thumb traces the line of my collarbone, peaking through the open neckline of my dress. The touch is tender, reassuring, as though trying to dissuade a frightened animal. I still can’t look up at him.

 

Peeta ducks down to meet my gaze and I let him hold it for a moment before looking away. His blond waves have grown out a little, falling across his forehead haphazardly, curling at the edges of his collar. I’ve been teasing him about it for weeks but I think he could tell that I actually kind of like it over the way he usually keeps it cropped short. 

 

“Katniss, Katniss - Hey?” He manages to lock my gaze and I see his lips quirk up in a smile. 

 

“Why are you upset?” I thought he’d ask ‘why’d you push me’ or maybe ‘are you a fucking psycho’. But of course he doesn’t.

 

“I don’t know,” I mumble as he continues to trace the line of my shoulder. 

 

He doesn’t say anything else, just waits for me.

 

“Why were you laughing at me?” My voice comes out with much more of a sting than I had intended; Peeta almost seems to wince. Trust me to make him feel guilty for something so obviously my fault. 

 

Peeta captures his bottom lip between his teeth and I let my eyes drift there for just a moment. When I look back at his eyes I can see the pupils fattening, the blue that is so quintessentially _Peeta_ just rimming the edges of his irises. The sight sends an unexpected heat to twist at my insides. I have to step away from his closeness but find my feet stuck in place. 

 

He seems to realise my discomfort because he shrugs and stands back up to his full height, that wicked smile tugging at his lips again. 

 

“It’s because you’re so pure, Katniss.” 

 

I scoff, “I am not!” 

 

Dammit. I still sound like a petulant child. 

 

“It was just…” He trails off, as though trying to figure out how best say his next words without mortally offending me. I cross my arms and tap an impatient foot on the tiled floor. 

 

“How long do you think Madge has had a crush on Gale?”

 

I almost feel my eyes bug out of my head, “What?”   
  
He starts laughing again and I go to punch his shoulder, but he captures my fist in his hand. 

 

“Nuh-uh,” he smirks, “Don’t think that just because you’ve got me once means you’ll ever get the chance again. I was second in the state for wrestling back in high school.” 

 

My bottom lip juts out in a pout. Taking a step back, Peeta pulls me into his side, throwing the arm that had gripped my fist over my shoulder. 

 

He plants a kiss to my temple and I look up as he points to the ceiling. 

 

“There was mistletoe,” he says, “I had no choice.” 

 

Glancing at his face I see his blue eyes back to their normal state: the corners creased in mirth, cheeks flushed with the effort it takes him not to laugh every moment of the day. 

 

“I’ll allow it,” I say as I press up on my tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. 

 

“Just this once.” 

 

And I ignore the butterflies in my stomach as we head back to the main room to find Madge and interrogate her about Gale. 

 

 

 

 

 

**3.**

 

I sit at a table close to the entrance, glancing up every time someone enters and hoping. Just _hoping_. 

 

I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up to see Madge. Her brows are furrowed and she looks like she wants to tell me how much of an idiot I’m being… how awful I am. 

 

“Why don’t you call him?” She says, voice soft. 

 

I look down, away from her gaze and stare at the ice melting in my drink. 

 

“I can’t.” 

 

Pulling out the chair beside me, Madge laces her fingers in my own, squeezing gently. 

 

“Oh, sweetheart, of course you can,” she tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, “Peeta doesn’t blame you for what happened, it wasn’t your fault.” 

 

But _I_ blame me. It was my fault. 

 

But I really don’t want to have this conversation _again_ , so I put on a smile that I’m sure she can see straight through, grab Madge’s hand and lead her to the dance floor. 

 

In all these years of company Christmas parties, I think this might be the first time I actually danced. Madge grabs me in a tight hug before releasing me with a smile – one that tries to say that things will be okay, but I don’t know if they ever will. 

 

The music is all very Christmassy and I’m honestly not drunk enough to really figure out how to dance to this, but Madge grabs my hands and we twist about the dance floor, laughing and giggling and forgetting. I’m covered in a sheen of sweat by the time we decide to get another drink. 

 

I elbow Madge’s side, “So how’s Gale’s bar going? He said you guys had a really nice dinner there after the opening night.” 

 

She blushes beet red and coughs on the dredges of her drink. It takes me a moment, but then I almost feel like smacking myself, who has dinner at 1am? 

 

“Um, it’s going really well,” she says, cheeks still flushed and eyes a little glazed over in memory, “You should stop by some time, best friend of the owner and the owner’s girlfriend gets drinks on the house every time.” 

 

I haven’t actually been since the opening a month ago. It was a nice little place not too far from the centre of town – close enough and clean enough to be the kind of place our department would go after work for a few drinks. 

 

But we haven’t done that in a while.

 

I nod a kind of ‘sure, sure’ but I think it will be a while before I really feel like socialising. I was never one who really enjoyed going out and now that Madge and Gale are well and truly in the honeymoon phase of dating and Peeta, the only other person ever capable of convincing me to leave the home, is, well… not available, I find myself becoming more and more of a recluse. 

 

An image of Prim hugging me tight around the waist, begging me to take her to the movies, or to the playground with her friends suddenly pops into my head and I know that she’d be disappointed with the person I am right now. The thought makes me feel sick. 

 

“Yeah, Madge,” I say, “I’d love to drop by sometime.” 

 

She smiles and lifts her drink to clink against mine.

 

Haymitch Abernathy meanders up to us, clearly drunk, but also much more adept at acting like a human than most of the people here. He levels me with a stare and a raised eyebrow and I feel my heart racing because I already know what he’s going to say. As the surprising head of a few departments, he’s been involved in a lot of what’s been going on the last few months. 

 

“Your boy’s here,” he says, taking a swig of his drink before continuing “You going to go say hello?”  

 

Being on the shorter side of average I have to stand on my tiptoes to try and get any sort of view over the crowd. It winds up just being a sea of mostly unrecognisable faces. I sink back down to my toes with a shrug and try to keep the disappointment off my face. 

 

It’s weird to be the one trying to find Peeta. I hate how every day without him I realise how reliant I had become on his presence; steady and warm and there for me, always. 

 

I picture my mother: practically bound to her bed in the darkness of her room, unable to cope with the death of her husband. After Prim died it was like I didn’t even exist. Just a blank space that fed her and bathed her and eventually put her in a home on its way out of town.  

 

Madge tugs at my arm and points to a spot across the hall where I can just catch site of a familiar blond head hunched in a corner.

 

He’s talking to Delly Cartwright, a kind of lumpy, pasty girl who works at the company’s front reception desk. She’s perfect for the job because she’s the only person I know other than Peeta who’s capable of smiling twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. But currently she seems to have some pathetic pity pout planted on her lips and weepy, wide, blue eyes that convey all the sympathy I’d never be capable of. 

 

I hate her for it. 

 

In another world, with a different, better version of me, I’d march over there and wrap Peeta in my arms in the warmest, most sincere hug of his life and I’d tell I’m sorry, that I don’t hate him, could never hate him and he’d shoot me that sweet, shy smile of his and kiss me on the forehead and we’d go back to his place and watch movies and laugh and Delly would be left standing there, over-the-top sympathy forgotten. 

 

(In another, totally alternate, completely unrealistic version of this world, I’d march over there and tell him I’m sorry, that I don’t hate him, that it’s kind of the opposite really and then I’d look up and see the mistletoe and say something romantic like _“We have to, it’s the rules,_ ” but I wouldn’t kiss his cheek this time and when we went back to his place we’d be on his couch but we wouldn’t watch movies. And oh yeah, who’s Delly?) 

 

I decide at least one of these worlds can exist so, excusing myself from Haymitch and Madge, I set out for the journey across the hall. At every twist and turn I bounce up to check Peeta’s still where I last saw him. 

 

_Bounce!_

 

Delly rubs his forearm sympathetically. I get an elbow to the back from some stranger. 

 

_Bounce!_

 

Peeta ducks his head, cheeks flushed. I stumble on someone’s foot. 

 

_Bounce!_

 

Delly presses a kiss to Peeta’s cheek and grips his hand, her smile returning. I’m almost there. 

 

_Bounce!_

 

Not there. Not there?

 

_Bounce!_

 

Definitely gone. 

 

Fuck.

 

I rush to the nearest table and, absolutely not caring how stupid it might make me look, climb onto a chair. Scanning the floor I try and find where they could have gone – it’s not like they could have gone far (I kick myself for thinking it). 

 

I imagine Peeta and Delly leaving together. Getting a drink. Going back to his place. Fucking. Her making him feel good, wanted _, loved._  

 

He should. He deserves it, deserves someone like her, someone nice. But I’m not nice and I still want to be the one by his side. 

 

A voice niggles in the back of my mind and it tells me _‘You had your chance, you threw it away, you told him you couldn’t feel that way about him, and he drove off in the rain in the dark of the night. How could he love someone who couldn’t handle the thought of dating him so much that she made him drive home in a storm? How could he love someone who doesn’t give a shit about anyone but herself?’_

 

I’ve battled with this soundtrack for six months and it’s stopped me from visiting him in the hospital, at his home. We’ve been reduced to courtesy work emails and everyone from him ends with a ‘always, Peeta’ and I have to stop myself from crying at my desk like a lunatic because I know that’s his way of telling me he doesn’t blame me that he’ll accept being friends if that’s all I want. That he just wants to be by my side. 

 

Always. 

 

And I still won’t call him. 

 

Now, standing on this stupid chair at this stupid Christmas party with the possibility that he’s left with Delly _fucking_ Cartwright and he didn’t even say hello makes me so mad that I sprint for the coat check and hop in the first cab I see. 

 

“The corner of Fourth and Royal, thanks.” 

 

I spend the cab ride planning what I want to say to him, what I’ll do if Delly’s there, the best way to get home after he slams the door shut in my face. 

 

All of these plans seem to fall out through my stomach once I’m actually standing outside his apartment door. 

 

I feel like if I looked out the window of this tenth story apartment I’d see my brain in a puddled mess on the ground. But even without it’s control over the handful of fine motor skills I’d managed to pick up over the years, my hand manages to lift to the heavy wooden door and knock and I feel like I’m outside of myself watching it all happen. 

 

But the weird, observant version of me slams straight back in the moment the door swings open to reveal Peeta Mellark. I have to take a moment to catch my breath. 

 

He’s on crutches, already dressed in his pyjamas. I find my gaze fixed on the stump of his left leg. Cut off just below the knee. Apparently he was lucky they managed to save that much. The skin around it is red and raw and I have the distinct urge to grab a tub of moisturiser and soothe it back to health. 

 

When I look back to his face he’s wearing a similar smirk but it’s twisted down a little at the corners. I open my mouth to say something, all the words I’d planned, but last minute remember that old phrase – something about actions, and louder, and how you don’t really need words – and I launch myself at him.

 

My arms wind around his neck so tightly but the sudden movement must have caught him off guard because he starts to lose his balance. One hard thump on the ground later and we’re a mess of limbs on the ground and my face is buried in the thin, white cotton of his t-shirt and a thousand memories fill my mind at the familiar scent. Cinnamon, dill, the faded notes of his cologne. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” I mumble the words into his chest, unable or unwilling to look up and face him just yet. 

 

He’s frozen for a moment. Then one of his hands reaches around to the small of my back. Even through the ridiculous fur-trimmed coat Madge made me wear, I can feel his thumb gently circling the spot. It’s soothing and forgiving and yeah that thing about actions and words seems to be really working in my favour right now. 

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to say hi at the Christmas party,” he says, remorse coating his words. 

 

I push up from my spot on top of him to look him in the eyes. They flicker between mine, still trying to read the situation. 

 

My lips are on his before I’ve even thought about doing it. 

 

I just… I need to show him. How sorry I am, how much he means to me. And I can’t think of any other way. 

 

For a moment he doesn’t respond. I move my hands up to cradle his cheeks, swipe my thumbs along the line of his jaw. I’m about to give up, back away and apologise and maybe crawl into a hole, when his arms wind tighter around my waist, his lips become pliable beneath mine. 

 

I gasp at the sensation, the feeling of victory, and he takes the opportunity to touch his tongue against mine. The bitter taste of tea is still on his tongue and I can picture the way he must have pottered about his apartment once he got home, boiled the kettle, thought about the fact that we hadn’t seen each other in almost six months. 

 

I tug his bottom lip between my teeth and bite down a little. I’m here now. I’m real and I’m here and I want Peeta. 

 

He groans against me and I can feel his erection against my thigh.The knowledge of its existence sends heat pulsing through me. I grind against it, just a little, just to let him know that this will be more than just a kiss on the floor beside his front door. 

 

His fingers dig into my sides at my movements.

 

“Katniss,” he mumbles against my lips. I move away from his mouth to let him speak, pressing kisses against his jaw, his cheeks, behind his ear, tugging his earlobe between my teeth, grinding down against him. 

 

“Katniss – ugh – Katniss!” 

 

With a quick movement and a yelp from me he flips us over so he’s now the one hovering over me. 

 

I look up into his eyes and see the fattened pupils – my own face reflected back, I look wild in them, almost beautiful. 

 

“What are you… What do you want?” He says it between heavy breaths, weighty and gruff and needy. 

 

The way his hands a placed cages me between his arms but keeps him too far for me to simply shut him up with more kisses. My mind is racing, thousands of thoughts a minute, but there’s only one that is consant:

 

“I want you, Peeta. All I want for Christmas is you.” 

 

The line is cheesy and I hate it but Mariah Carey must have known something about wooing the boy because the tension that had been building between is broken. Peeta’s face splits into a wide grin and then he’s collapsing on top of me, laughing into my breastbone. My whole body shakes with the force of his laughter and I imagine the feeling seeping into my bones, into my muscles to be relived over and over once this night is done. 

 

I’ll have Peeta for tonight. 

 

“Okay,” he says, “I’ll allow it.” 

 

I smile into his hair and he lays kisses on my chest.

 

“But on one condition.”

 

At this point, I’d go to work naked if it meant this night with Peeta. 

 

“Okay, name your terms.” 

 

After I speak he leans back up to look at me in the eyes. His gaze is stern, steady, reading me. 

 

“We do this in my bed.” 

 

I laugh and nod. He stands and grabs at his crutches as he does so. I look back down at his leg. 

 

“Don’t,” he says, reaching a hand out to help me up but he won’t meet my eyes. 

 

“Just for tonight let me pretend I’m still a man worthy of sleeping with you.” 

 

What? He must read the confusion on my expression because with one arm he pulls me into his side. I wrap my arms around him as he kisses my forehead. 

 

“Peeta,” I start but he interrupts. 

 

“It’s okay, Katniss. I know you don’t want me in that way forever and I’ll never push it but you’re here and for some reason you want me right now and I’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity.” 

 

I shake my head against him. This isn’t how this was meant to go. But my tongue is stuck in my throat and I don’t know what to say because I feel like there’s nothing that could make him believe this isn’t about his leg or me feeling sorry for myself but because _I want him_. Even when I said those words exactly. 

 

But I’m also scared. Scared of what a relationship with Peeta could mean, of how I’ve felt this past six months without him by my side. And he’s giving me that out. 

 

So instead of saying something, like my beating heart tells me I should, I reach up to kiss his lips. 

 

I pull away and he gives me a sad little smile that makes me have to swallow back tears. 

 

Okay. If this is the one night he’s mine and I’m his, then I’m going to make sure it’s one neither of us will ever forget. 

 

We make our way to his bedroom and I shut the door behind us. I just want us in here. Nothing else. 

 

Turning so my back is towards him, I pull my hair – loose for once – across my shoulder. 

 

“Can you unzip me?” I look behind me to see his darkening eyes, his tongue tracing the bottom edge of his lip. He nods and after finding his balance reaches towards me. 

 

His knuckles graze over my skin as the zipper moves downward. The feeling leaves goose pimples in its wake. He pauses at the spot where my bra is clasped, some simple black thing that worked under this dress, with a flick of his wrist I feel the tension of the bra ease. Then he continues, tracing each bump of my spine, until he reaches the bottom. His hands come up to push my dress and bra off my shoulders in one fluid motion. 

 

I let the garments fall to the floor as he steps up behind me. 

 

My nipples strain both in the cool air of his room and the way his fingertips trace the contours of my body; the crest of my hips, the shallow dip of my waist, the rise of my breasts. The palms of his hands reach around me and cup the weight of them, thumbs flicking over dark, hardened nipples.I throw my head back against his shoulder and moan, the sound breaking the silence of the room. Peeta leans down to kiss my neck, nibbles at the sensitive skin. 

 

One hand descends down the flat plane of my stomach; a finger dips into my bellybutton and makes me squirm. Then all his fingertips are tracing the scalloped edge of what is actually my nicest pair of panties. I push my pelvis towards him even as I sink further into his embrace. 

 

Two fingers sink below the scrap of lace and easily find my clit, swirling over it briefly before sinking lower to my entrance. I feel his groan against my neck as he discovers how wet I am, probably already soaking his fingers.

 

He starts to sink forward in to me and I think how hard this must be for him on only one leg. So I turn in his arms and step backwards toward the bed. I keep my eyes on his as I move, looking up through the veil of my dark lashes. 

 

The only light in here comes from the street lamps down below. Shadows dance across his face and outline the square line of his jaw, the nose – slightly crooked from the time his older brother broke it while they were practicing wrestling moves, but his blue eyes hold that same brightness, the same innocence, that no room, however dark, could manage to hide. 

 

I pull us both down onto the sheets. The bed is fluffy and warm and I realise he must have been about to sleep when I knocked on his door. 

 

Peeta tries to hide it, but I still catch his sigh of relief when we are both lying down. Under normal circumstances I’d shoot him a sharp look and tell him he was an idiot for not saying anything, but instead I just reach for the hem of his t-shirt and pull it over his head. 

 

Madge had told me that for the first few months after the accident Peeta had lost a lot of weight, unable to get out of bed except with the help of the nurses. But the rehab programme seems to have worked wonders because his chest is as broad and muscular as I remember it from when we used to go to the company gym together, or for the occasional run in the park before work. 

 

I trace his pecs, the faint line of his abs, the bulge of his biceps. The look on his face is one of pride – a smirk settled in the corner of his lips. He still looks _good_. It makes me wish I’d gone and fucked him in that hospital bed when he was still too weak to walk, when his body had been raw with scars and the pink lick of flames across his skin. I wish I’d worshipped his body then. 

 

Pulling him down so I can feel his full weight across my body, I wrap my legs around his narrow hips. My heels grind into his ass through his sleep pants and I drive my groin into his erection. 

 

My mouth is pressed against the shell of his ear and I gasp into it, breaths hot and wet. He moans against my skin as I continue to drive him against me. One of his hands manages to slip between us and he pushes down hard against my clit. 

 

I push him off me and he opens his mouth to say something but stops as he sees me wriggling out of my underpants. Peeta’s eyes stay glued to the spot even as I reach for his shorts and tug them down his legs. When I reach the stump of his left, I caress the tender skin. He looks back up to me, biting his lip, uncertainty in his gaze. But I lean down and kiss the spot and his worry disappears, at least for now. 

 

Then my attention is drawn to his cock. The girth of it bobs against his clenching stomach and I can practically feel my mouth watering. Before I can even reach for it though Peeta’s flipped me over on to my back and is nestled between my outstretched legs. 

 

He grins down at me wolfishly, nipping at my pout. 

 

“Me first,” is all he says. I want to roll my eyes at him but he’s already lowered himself further down the bed and is pressing the flat of his tongue against my slit and yeah okay, he can go first whenever he wants.

 

“Oh, fuck.” 

 

I feel him smile between my thighs. Looking down through hooded lids, I can just catch the blue of his staring up at me between blond locks. I struggle to maintain eye contact as he sucks my clit in his mouth and pushes two fingers deep inside me. 

 

The pressure in my lower abdomen builds steadily and I try to rock against his mouth. But Peeta is determined to set the pace, to take this slow. He throws one arm across my hips to steady me but it blocks everything but his hair from my sight. 

 

So I close my eyes and let the feeling of his tongue and his fingers overwhelm me. His teeth scrape against the swollen kernel sending sparks of pleasure into my veins. Hot pleasure prickles under the surface of my skin as he adds a third finger, stretching me, filling me. 

 

His pinkie finger brushes against the sensitive skin just below my entrance and I gasp. He pushes down on it harder in response and I almost feel like crying. 

 

In some ways it’s so strange actually being _with_ Peeta. In the deepest caverns of my soul I might actually be able to admit that this is something I’ve wanted for a while. But it’s almost surreal, like I’ll wake up and this will be another one of those uncomfortable dreams that has me blushing like a loon all of the next day at work. 

 

Peeta moans against me and I cry out at the feeling. His fingers start to pump harder, faster. His mouth and tongue working my clit like it’s their sole purpose in life. My heart stutters out a rhythm against the wall of my chest and a press a hand to it, feeling it through my sweat-slicked skin. 

 

Peeta removes his arm from across my hips and lets me ride his face. I grind down in his mouth, my ass pushing against the bed, back arching. He reaches up to grasp my hand where it rests over my heart and together we feel it race as my whole body clenches in orgasmic bliss.

 

He sits up after and swipes my come off his chin with a grin so feral I wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to eat me for breakfast. 

 

As much as I want to take his dick in everyway possible before this is over, I already feel empty. So I don’t complain as he pulls a condom from his bedside drawer, as he hooks my leg around his hip, as he looks me in the eye and pushes into me. 

 

We go slow at first. The stump of his leg rests outside my thigh and I grip his ass in my hands as I reach a foot down to trace the length of it. It’ll always be my burden to bear but I think Peeta no less beautiful because of it. In fact, as he thrusts into me with slow, steady strokes, sweat dripping down his face and chest, blond hair almost dark as it is matted to his head, eyes hardly blue but only focussed on me – well… I don’t think he’ll ever be as beautiful to me as he is in this moment. 

 

So I etch the vision of him taking me, the breathy way he says my name, the roar of his release… I etch it all into my memory in vivid colour. I want, always, to remember this moment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**4.**

 

“So,” I say, trying to figure how best to balance a glass of red wine, a mini-beef pie and my phone, “How’re you enjoying this year’s Christmas party?” 

 

Peeta shrugs and wrinkles his nose, “I think I finally figured out why you’d prefer to be home watching movies.”

 

I laugh because he’s the one who begged me to come, claiming he didn’t know anyone else since Madge no longer worked at the company. It’s ridiculous because even as the new head of our department he’s still clearly the most popular person in the office. 

 

I catch his eye when he looks over at me and I have to duck my head to hide my blush. 

 

“Um,” I say. I would say there’s still ample time to leave and do just that, but I think of last year’s Christmas party and what the two of us being alone in an apartment led to and I just don’t know if I can handle the implication. 

 

It’s safe to say said event was a one time only Christmas special. And it’d feel a little too cliché if tonight was round two. 

 

“I don’t know why we changed venues this year,” he says as he surveys the room. Every year before it had been held in the ballroom of some nearby hotel with enough room to sit and eat and good dance floor. This year it’s some dingy, hipster warehouse in the cool part of town and it’s a bit too dark to make out everyone’s faces so limits mingling capabilities. I feel like it’s more suited to drunk teenagers than twenty- or thirty-something business whatevers like us. 

 

I look up at Peeta in surprise though, because the story has been all anyone could talk about for weeks, “Didn’t you hear? Cato Roberts got so drunk last year he ripped a urinal off the wall and the hotel refused to have us back.” 

 

His mouth drops open, “You’re kidding, how did I miss that?” 

 

Um. 

 

Peeta coughs and if it weren’t so dark I’d swear he blushed. 

 

Just probably not as much as me. 

 

“How are Madge and Gale going?” He asks, always the king of keeping a conversation going. 

 

It’s not like every conversation we’ve had this year has been like this, with the exception of maybe his first few days back at work. It must be because we’re at the Christmas party and to be honest I’m struggling to think of anything but the feel of his hands on my naked body. 

 

“Yeah they’re good, just bought a place near yours actually, you should show them around the neighbourhood.” 

 

If you’d asked me two years ago if I thought Madge and Gale would ever be moving in together, I’d have laughed in your face. But there you go, strange things happen. 

 

An awkward pause settles over us and we look out over the crowd as best as we can in the dim lighting. 

 

This is lining up to be one of the most boring nights of my life. 

 

I turn to Peeta with a sigh, “Want to get drunk?” 

 

“Uh, yeah.” 

 

 

 

Four glasses of wine later I’m not necessarily smashed but I’m definitely tipsy. I’d have to be because I think I’m currently twirling on the dance floor with Peeta, giggles spilling out of my mouth. 

 

“Best Christmas party ever!” He shouts as he stumbles a bit on his prosthetic. It’s a new one and even though it’s way better than the last one he had, he’s still getting used to it a little. 

 

I laugh at him and he pouts, “No fair, teasing the cripple.” 

 

“Aw, what happened to not wanting special treatment?” 

 

On Peeta’s first day back in the office he must have received one too many pitying, sympathetic looks because he made an impromptu speech at the end of it, standing on a chair in the corner of our department telling everyone that _yes_ , he was fine and while he greatly appreciated all our concern he’d much rather we all carried on like normal. _No_ _special treatment_.

 

Except for when it’s asking me to grab his coffee order, or bring take away to his house so we can watch dumb movies on the couch, or apparently when it turns out he’s a terrible dancer. 

 

The music suddenly slows and I’m reminded of all those teen movies Prim used to love watching. 

 

I’m sure everything is going to be awkward again when Peeta sags forward, resting his chin on top of my head. 

 

His arms circle around me and I reach mine up to grip the lapels of his jacket. We kind of just stand there, swaying gently. I turn my cheek to rest my ear against the beat of his heart. I feel his breath puff over the top of my hair. 

 

“I’m so tired, Katniss.” 

 

And he sounds it: world-weary, like he could sleep for a hundred years. I can’t imagine how hard he’s been working. Head of the department, rehab sessions once a week. But it feels like he’s not really talking about that. 

 

“What’s wrong?” I say into the white cotton of his dress shirt. I had to remind myself how to breathe when I picked him up in the cab. I’d forgotten what he looked like all dressed up in a suit and tie. He’d slicked his hair back and shot me a dirty look when I tried to muss it up.

 

‘Who’re you trying to impress?’ I’d said and for what must have been the first time in recorded history, he rolled his eyes at me. 

 

He just shakes his head on top of mine.

 

“Nothing,” he says, sounding very much like he’s about to say _something_. 

 

“Okay.” 

 

He pulls away from the embrace but holds my hand loosely in his. It feels like only the two of us exist in this room. Leaning forward, he places a gentle kiss on my forehead.

 

“Thank you,” he mumbles against my skin. 

 

“For what?” I ask, a little perplexed at this strange turn of mood. 

 

Peeta smiles. 

 

I love the way his lips curl up at the corners, how the crinkles at the corners of his eyes are starting to leave fine traces of their existence even when he’s not smiling. I imagine his face in old age, it’d be all droopy lines at the edges of his mouth and eyes, but I can see his forehead being practically smooth, his eyes would be just as bright. It hits me that I hope I’m there to see it. 

 

Gripping his hand more firmly, I lead him from the dance floor, suddenly determined. 

 

When we reach the spot I must have subconsciously scouted earlier, I stop us abruptly. 

 

“Katniss,” Peeta says, laughter lining the sides of his words, “What on earth are you doing?” 

 

I see Haymitch Abernathy standing in a dark corner not too far from where stand. He winks at me and raises his drink before walking off towards the exit. 

 

“I’m doing what I should have done a long time ago.” 

 

And then I point upwards to the mistletoe. And before Peeta can open his damn mouth I press mine against it, swallowing the shocked little gasp. 

 

After all it’s Christmas. What’s the point of pretending anymore? 

 

“Merry Christmas, Peeta,” I whisper as we pull apart, just far enough for me to say the words. 

 

Then he’s surging forward, cupping my cheeks in his hands. He suckles briefly on my bottom lip and I moan before we go back to a chaste, work party appropriate level of realising we’ve been wasting a lot of time. 

 

“Merry Christmas, Katniss.”

 

Seriously. Best Christmas party ever. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**5.**

 

“Wow,” Peeta says as he greets me at the entrance, “Wow.” 

 

Madge had come over and rifled through my closet to find some red little number I hadn’t known I even owned (and strongly suspect she planted in my closet just for this occasion). I don’t know why she was still trying to convince me to come to this stupid thing, but the wrath of soon-to-be Mrs. Hawthorne wasn’t something I felt like messing with. 

 

“Not so bad yourself, sir,” I demure, not even trying to hide the way my eyes rake over his newly tailored navy suit. He left his hair a little long, just the way I like it, and his eyes look down at me in amusement through the blond waves. 

 

He kisses me briefly, a chaste press of lips on lips. 

 

“Thank you for coming,” he says. As department head he really has no choice in attending, and while he’d said it was fine that I didn’t want to come this year, the grasp he has on my silk clad hip suggests he probably sent a sneaky text to Madge asking for her assistance. 

 

I tuck my arm around his waist as we walk through the room. Thankfully, with the promise that Cato Roberts was definitely not in attendance, we got the old venue back. It’s nice to actually see everyone’s faces and hear their voices while we make small talk. 

 

Finnick Odair sidles up to me at some point, “How’s my sweet little sugar cube enjoying her new department?” 

 

He winks at Peeta as he says it. 

 

“Oh just fine, no thanks to you,” I laugh as he covers his heart as though I’ve shot him. 

 

“Are you trying to suggest that Johanna Mason is better company than I am?” He says, mock horror dripping from his words. 

 

Oh lord, Johanna Mason. If anyone had ever thought I was the most abrasive, difficult person to get along with, I was now going to point them in her direction. 

 

We get along in a ‘we both hate people, places, and things’ kind of way, but the number of times I’ve almost choked on my lunch because of something she’s said is disturbingly high. 

 

“You’re lucky to have her, Odair, I miss having her sunny disposition and constant need to be nice to people around my side of the building,” Peeta deadpans, fingers drumming lightly at my side. 

 

I pinch the soft skin on the underside of his forearm and he yelps. Benefits of Peeta Mellark being your boyfriend include finally figuring out all his weak spots. 

 

Finnick laughs. 

 

As much as I miss working with Peeta, we decided it’d be healthier if one of us switched departments, and considering I felt no particular attachment to his it made sense for it to be me. And actually the work I’m doing now is far more interesting, so it’s really a win-win. It helps that despite his seemingly smarmy persona, Finnick is actually a great guy. 

 

“You’ll have to be careful, Mellark, I hear this one’s got a thing for department heads.” 

 

If I didn’t know how much he loves his wife and son, I’d actually be worried. 

 

“Is that so?” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. 

 

“Yeah, there’s one or two I’ve got my eye on,” I say, attempting as serious a tone as possible. Peeta reaches down to pinch the skin on the back of my thigh and I jump. Disadvantage of being Peeta Mellark’s girlfriend is that he learns all of my weaknesses. 

 

Finnick’s phone pings in his pocket and he pulls it out, “Well I’ve just received word that Johanna is terrorising the coat check clerk so I’d better go and survey the damage.” His tone is joking but the actual worry apparent on his face means the story is likely true. 

 

Peeta leans down to whisper in the shell of my ear, the feeling has tingles running across my skin, “So now that we’re all alone, what are you going to do with me?”

 

I shove him away with a pointed stare. There’s more than a few hundred people in this room right now, “Keep it in your pants, Mellark.” 

 

He looks sideways at me with a sly grin, reaching down to subtly adjust the front of his pants. I have to look away with a blush. I can practically hear his thoughts – _You’re so pure!_  

 

He laughs, throwing his arm around my waist to tuck me back into his side. I guess we’re still sort of in that honeymoon phase because even a year later he hates going more than a few minutes without touching me. 

 

And I guess it’s the same for me. But it’s easier to pretend that isn’t the case when he spends half his time trying to tease me. 

 

I nudge my nose against his side and he drops a kiss to my forehead, “If you make the rounds with me one more time, I promise I’ll show you something special.” 

 

Wrinkling my nose I look up at him, “Do I have to go with you?” 

 

Peeta’s lips curl up in a smile and he brushes a strand of hair loose from my braid, “Mmhm, I need to be able to prove to everyone that it was the cripple who managed to get the hottest girl in the room.” 

 

“Oh, shut up!” 

 

The one thing I don’t think I’ll ever be capable of is learning how to take a compliment. Peeta has learnt to disguise them under layers of self-depreciating humour just so I don’t try and punch him (it only happened a few times I swear).

 

Making small talk is so not in my skill set that I spend the next hour or so just watching on in awe as Peeta navigates conversation after conversation, treating practical strangers like close friends. It feels like he knows how to make everyone laugh, just the right questions to ask in order for them to leave with a smile on their faces. It’s magical. 

 

But eventually I’m struggling to hide my yawns and Peeta is leaning on me a little to heavily. 

 

“So what about this surprise?” I ask as Claudius Templesmith from somewhere or other departs. 

 

Peeta looks around briefly, probably to check if there’s anyone else we (he) should have spoken to, before taking my hand, “Alright Katniss, let’s go. Thanks for letting me show you off.”

 

He lifts my knuckles to his lips and kisses them, blue eyes on mine. I’d say he was my knight in shining armour except for that the fact that it was me he called to get a spider out of his bathroom yesterday morning. So I think we’re pretty even on that front. 

 

“Lead the way,” I say as he drops my hand. 

 

We wind through the crowd, out the main doors, up a set of stairs, down a hallway, around a corner, through some doors and more hallways and more stairs until I’m well and truly lost. But Peeta seems to know exactly where he’s going, eyebrows set, tongue sticking out just at the corner of his mouth as he clearly follows some learned route. 

 

Eventually we make it through a set of French doors to a Juliette balcony overlooking the city. 

 

The hotel is on the top of a hill and from here you can see everything - from the Capitol building on the north side of town to the lake in the south. Snow is just starting to fall, illuminated by the lights of the city. I know that in the morning it’ll be brown and slushy and I’ll be falling on my arse on some iced over part of the footpath, but it’s moments like this when I remember how beautiful snow is. 

 

If I squint I can just make out Peeta’s apartment building, mine is way on the other side of town, out of the city. 

 

“Wow,” I breathe, “This must be the best view in the city.” 

 

Peeta leans against the railing, hands interlinked in front of him, “Yeah, an inside source told me about it. I thought it would be perfect.” 

 

My brow furrows, “Perfect for what?” 

 

He turns to me then, sinks to one knee. Oh no. No no no no. Despite what must be horror on my face he smiles, pulls a box out of his pants pocket. 

 

“Katniss Everdeen,” he says, voice steady. I feel like I’m going to throw up. 

 

“Would you do me the honour,” he starts opening the box, I consider jumping from the building. 

 

 

But it’s a key. What?

 

“Of moving in with me?”

 

“Peeta you little shit!” I punch his shoulder but throw my arms around him. He falls back onto his butt and wind my legs around his waist, hugging him close to me. 

 

“You should have seen your face,” he laughs against my neck, warmth radiating from the spot where we touch. 

 

My dress is too tight for this position so the hem has ridden way up my thighs. I shiver in the cold and Peeta pulls back to take off his jacket and wrap it around my shoulders, his palms falling to my thighs. 

 

“So is that a yes?” He questions, rubbing in long slow strokes from my hem to my knees. 

 

I can already feel warmth pooling in my core and am more than a little thankful that this dress required me to give up underwear. 

 

I lean forward, kiss him soundly on the lips. 

 

“Only if you promise to never do that again.”

 

The smile on his face grows, the tips of his fingers sneaking further and further under my dress with every stroke. 

 

I move to stand up and hold my hand out towards him. He gets off the ground with a grunt, but then he’s there, so close; chest and shoulders rising with each breath. 

 

“So um,” I begin, playing with the collar of his shirt, teasing the buttons, tugging at his belt buckle, “How exactly visible is this balcony?” 

 

A rumble emanates from his throat, eyes darken, “See for yourself.” 

 

I look around, the hotel is mostly surrounded by park, unless someone were taking a midnight stroll and happened to look up here no one can see us – and even then there’s no lights to illuminate us. 

 

When our mouths meet I’m not exactly sure who started the kiss, but I know it won’t be me who ends it. It’s rushed and desperate, tongue and against tongue, my hands wind through his hair, sure to leave it mussed and obvious when we have to make our escape from this building. 

 

His hands move under my dress to grip my ass and when he can’t find panties he practically weeps into my mouth. 

 

“You’re so lucky I didn’t know about that earlier,” he gets out between heated kisses. His fingers move between my thighs, probe my entrance to find me wet and ready, circle my clit. 

 

I’m so thankful right now for the pill because I couldn’t wait til we were home to have him inside me. 

 

Peeta spins me around and guides my hands to the rail. It seems sturdy enough to take what’s about to happen. 

 

He pushes my dress up so I’m totally exposed and I’m sure I’ll have a cold tomorrow but right now I feel like I’m on fire. 

 

The sound of his belt unbuckling and his pants unzipping has me practically throbbing. I feel like Pavlov’s dog, the sound of his pants coming off will likely forever be enough of a cue to have me dripping with need. 

 

“Fuck, Katniss,” he says as he leans against me, one hand coming to grip mine on the rail, the other guiding his cock inside me. I’ll never get bored of the feeling of him filling me. Every time, the delicious stretch, the way my breath catches, it’s like coming home. 

 

Once he’s fully inside me he holds still for just a moment, kisses my shoulder, “I can’t wait to have you live with me.” 

 

I nod in response, “I’ll move in tomorrow.” 

 

And I will, half my wardrobe is there anyway since he lives so much closer to work. 

 

“Good girl,” he says before all coherent conversation is done. 

 

He pulls out all the way before setting a solid pace, his balls slapping my ass with each thrust, the hand not on mine circling furiously over my clit. Despite the unlikelihood of being caught, it’s the last thing we need at a work function, so I relish the fast pace. 

 

It doesn’t take long for me to sag forward on the railing, my orgasm pulsing through me as my walls milk Peeta’s come from his cock. He pulls away and must grab a handkerchief because I feel him swiping at mixture of semen and my come from between my thighs. I reach a hand down and swipe some, licking it from my fingertips. 

 

“Katniss,” he says, voice muffled as it comes from between my thighs, “I need to be able to enter the party without a hard on.” 

 

I laugh, “Just giving myself a taste tester for later.” 

 

He tugs my dress back down and pulls me to him, kissing me soundly. 

 

“Mm,” he says, licking at my lips, “Looks like we’ve both got something to look forward to.” 

 

As much as I want to stay here with Peeta forever, I know this moment has to end. So with a sigh I guide him back into the room. 

 

“Thank you,” I say, leaning up on my tiptoes to kiss the corner of his lips, “That was a beautiful surprise.”

 

 

 

 

 

**12.**

 

 

“Peeta,” I sigh, falling against his shoulder. Some old Christmas songs play over the sound system and Peeta hums along as we make our way to the bar. 

 

“Yes, sweetheart?” He questions, getting me a glass of sparkling water and himself a beer. 

 

“Can we go home yet?”

 

He looks down at me, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling in happiness, “Is my beautiful – _kiss_ – pregnant – _kiss –_ wife tired?” 

 

I frown, yes I am. 

 

“Can’t we just go home and cuddle with Poppy and watch Home Alone?”

 

I never liked these Christmas parties anyway. Even if, upon reflection, they haven’t all been so bad.

 

“Okay, Katniss, let’s go home.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed that and have a wonderful holiday season! Come hang out at coalstewart.tumblr.com


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